


a new country

by aikanaro, Unlos



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Rescue, Threats of Violence, Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26192506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aikanaro/pseuds/aikanaro, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unlos/pseuds/Unlos
Summary: Glorfindel had known something was amiss before anyone else did. The feeling was one he could neither describe nor wholly explain, but in one terrible instant he was sure of it -- something was wrong.Written for Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020.
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 80
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	a new country

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020. The beautiful piece of art in it was created by Unlos, (usuallysublimepenguin.tumblr.com).
> 
> Additional Warnings: This fic contains the threat of torture in a brief scene. Nothing of the sort actually appears hence the teen rating, but just to be safe I am warning for that here as well as the tags. 
> 
> Glorfindel uses Quenya a few times in this fic, the translations are as follows:  
> \- ósanwë: (n) - "thinking together", communication by thought, telepathy  
> \- fëa: (n) - spirit, soul

Glorfindel was standing at the edge of his balcony, looking out over Imladris as the sun sank low in the sky. Since there had been a sun at all, he had liked to pause at the end of each day and watch as the waning light cast a hazy orange glow as far as the eye could see. He leaned against the balcony railing, listened as a waterfall rushed nearby, and tried earnestly to relax. Annoyingly, his body would not seem to obey him. No matter how many long, slow breaths he took, his shoulders remained tense and his mind hurried from one thing to the next. 

Erestor had always said that Glorfindel had a tendency to be over watchful- that even at the best of times he seemed tense, as though waiting for some unlooked for calamity. The scholarly counselor was forever making such observations: he had an unnerving ability to see through others, to gaze past pomp and pretence and know a man for what he was. On more than one occasion Glorfindel had found he felt unexpectedly bare and vulnerable before his dark eyes. To be seen was one thing, to be known was another. 

Regardless, the fact of the matter was that when his old friend was away from him, his inability to cease this anxious vigil was worse -- leagues worse. He felt somehow frantic and unsettled even in a place of peace. As severe and sometimes stubborn as Erestor could be, in his steady company things had always seemed…easier. 

Erestor had never once seemed to give a damn about the legend and reputation that followed Glorfindel and that was a good thing, even if it had been off-putting at first. He was irreverent — to the tragedy and the so-called glory alike. His love was in scholarship and the care of old tomes filled with tales of the dead and forgotten. Living elves, it seemed, would have to try harder to gain his respect. Others could look at Glorfindel with all the wide eyed wonderment they wanted, and Erestor would meet him with only an even, appraising stare. He said what he thought, and nothing less. If Glorfindel was wrong about something, Erestor could be counted on to tell him so without tip-toeing around him in fear of causing offense. It was, on occasion, _infuriating_ when Erestor would not let him have his way, but ultimately it meant that no pedestal existed between them on which Glorfindel had to stand on ceremony. 

They lived as equals and over the centuries they had fallen into a steady and abiding friendship. Erestor’s absence had made Glorfindel uncomfortably aware of how much he had attuned his life to the rhythm of that friendship over the years. Every day there seemed an odd void where Erestor ought to be: in council meetings, at dinner, walking through the gardens. The void created an unnameable ache that Glorfindel had no words for, a yearning to be near his friend again. 

The strange aching he did not understand was made worse by the anxiety for Erestor that plagued him. In the fall, Erestor had traveled to Gondor to consult the libraries there. Glorfindel was not quite certain what the specifics were, only that there was some important scholarly initiative going on that Erestor wished to be a part of. He had travelled east with a caravan of Men that Glorfindel had, perhaps, insisted be more vigilant on the road than was entirely routine. 

If he had thought his unease about the whole thing would fade with the counselor’s departure, he had been more than wrong. Scarcely a day had passed since that he had not found himself restless, pacing, and unable to truly find calm. The nagging sense of unease had led him to working longer hours and taking fewer days to rest. Even now in the peace of this quiet dusk with the day’s duties done and nothing to disturb him he felt anxious, as though somehow wrong-footed by Erestor’s absence. 

Perhaps this over-awareness was the reason that Glorfindel was so instantly aware of the thing when it came.

As he stared out over the city, he was struck by something. All at once he felt it-- a searing broadside against the edge of his mind. The sheer force of the mental blow nearly knocked him asunder and it would not relent, seeming to pin him beneath itself. It pounded at the edge of his consciousness, so loud that it made him sick. He tried to focus, to find the source of this--this _thing_ , but no answer came. It was not a vision in the way he was accustomed to foresight, nor _ósanwë_ of the normal sort but still it was there -- a series of hammer blows at the edge of his _fëa_ and a blood curdling sense of utter wrongness. More than the pain itself was the knowledge of something coming -- the one gasping, panicked moment of stillness before the freefall. 

He scrambled toward the door to his chambers on shaking knees. Unable to breathe, he clawed blindly at the door until he wrenched it open and staggered inside, reaching for daggers he kept at his bedside and trying distantly to form some course of action. 

Then, through the haze, a vision of his dearest friend passed behind his eyes. He saw black braids and dark eyes and a familiar mouth set in an unyielding line, he could hear the low rasp of a familiar voice and --

 _Erestor_ , his mind whispered hoarsely. _Something has happened to Erestor._

He had absolutely no way of knowing for certain. There was no true signal or sign, but instinct told him so, and panicked as he was, instinct won out. He needed to go out looking for Erestor, he needed to spare him from whatever harm was coming to him. He prepared his things as quickly as he could and half ran down the corridor.

\---

“Elrond, you are my lord and I respect your counsel, but _please_ do not order me to stay here. I don’t want to defy you, but I can’t do nothing when I know something is happening to him -- or _will_ happen!” 

The Lord of Imladris, venerable and understanding as he was, was simply being far too level-headed for Glorfindel at the moment. For several minutes he had been trying to calm Glorfindel down from the utter state he had been in when he’d burst into the Lord’s study to inform him he was leaving to find their counselor this very instant.

“I am doing nothing of the sort,” Elrond said evenly, “I trust your judgement and would not disregard this foresight you have. I am simply telling you as your friend that at the moment you are unwell in your distress for Erestor and it is _nightfall_ and you know as well as I do it is unwise to set out now. You are no callow soldier, friend. You know this is too hasty. Where shall you even look for him first, Glorfindel? The days have only barely grown warm enough that they would make such a journey-- if he left Minas Tirith as soon as it were possible the farthest he might have yet come would be .. the Gap of Calenardhon, perhaps? You need a plan for this endeavor.”

“There is no time. I shall simply ride the roads he would take until I find him! I would sooner travel all the way to Minas Tirith and find him unharmed with a book in hand than sit here useless while _something_ torments him! You know he is no warrior. Perhaps he could hold his own against a man or two for some time, but if orcs overwhelmed the party he could not fight them off!” Glorfindel’s chest heaved. He had only meant to inform Elrond where he was going, not to ask his permission or delay his leaving. Elrond spoke of him being _unwell_ as though that mattered at all, as though anything in Arda mattered at the moment more than finding Erestor unharmed. 

“And if he is not on the road? If the ill you fear has befallen him -- if orcs or men with ill intent have _taken_ him, you will not find him with any ease. You need to take a few other elves with you such that you may spread out to look - something you will have to wait until dawn to organize. That is to say nothing of the danger of the dark itself.”

“Damn the dark! I crossed the _Helcaraxë_ without even the moon to guide me, I do not fear it. I know you think this reckless of me, but he is my ...my _friend._ He is my dearest friend. I cannot lose anyone else. I cannot lose _him_ ,” Glorfindel said, the last coming out choked and hoarse. 

Elrond swallowed. “I know how you feel...I know _exactly_ how you feel. Why do you think I make my home here in this valley and use what power I may to safeguard my wife and children as closely as I can? Why do you think I welcome Maglor into my home when there are many who would see him an exile in misery for all time? We that walked Beleriand have known so much loss that our bellies are full of it -- so full it makes us sick. Always, we are shadowed by the memory of so many people who should still be here and we cling to those we still have. I know what he means to you. If it were Celebrían I feared in danger out on the road, I would be as frantic as you are. Erestor is a kinsman and dear friend who it would wound me to see harmed. I know your grief, do not think I do not.”

A long moment passed as Glorfindel simply stared at his lord.

“Then you know why I cannot bear to wait,” Glorfindel said with an unwavering finality before turning on his heel.

As he strode from the room it occurred to him that Elrond had obliquely compared his relationship with Erestor to Elrond’s own with his wife. The thought was not half so strange as it should have been. 

\---

Glorfindel urged Asfaloth onward, attempting to ignore his exhaustion. Gifted as he was with the strength of the Eldar and the blessings of rebirth alike, two weeks on the road at this breakneck pace had still wearied him and his horse both. 

Still, as tired as he was, he found that moving onward was a comfort. Travelling meant that he was closer to seeing Erestor again. He had been reluctant to rest any more than was absolutely necessary as the stillness allowed his mind to wander to places he had no care to go. In stillness suddenly shadows would shift from formless nothing into specters of his worst imaginings. In the dark he could imagine any number of terrible things that his friend might be experiencing and the problem was that his first life and all the horrors in it had given Glorfindel a _very_ good imagination. 

When he was moving these thoughts were more muted and that, at least, was comforting even if he could not dispel his anxieties entirely. Nothing on the scale of the initial alarm had recurred, but a nagging _wrongness_ and the unutterable sense that it was associated with Erestor remained as a low hum in the background of every thought. There was no single blow like the first, but the ambient foreboding would not leave him. It was akin to the heavy feeling of the air just before rainfall -- like every breath drawn was thick with the anticipation of something.

In addition, Glorfindel often felt that he could almost feel Erestor’s presence with him as he rode. After many years of friendship and countless hours passed in each other’s company he was accustomed to the feeling of Erestor’s nearness, and so it was not an unpleasant feeling, exactly, but it was terribly strange given that he knew Erestor to be far away from him. At times the feeling was so intense he would look over one shoulder involuntarily, as though subconsciously expecting to see Erestor’s dark, piercing eyes staring back. 

After another hour, when he began to sway slightly in the saddle from fatigue, Glorfindel resolved to rest for a few hours despite his misgivings. He made a small camp near a stream. There was grass enough for Asfaloth to graze along the bank and water to drink and refill the skins. He made a meal of lembas and then settled into his bedroll. 

To his own surprise, he was exhausted enough that rest came quickly. 

His mind drifted dreamlessly for some time until suddenly -

 _Glorfindel found himself sitting up in a clearing he didn’t recognize. At first he scrambled back slightly as he tried to figure out how he had moved as he slept, but he quickly realized that what he saw was not the waking world at all_ . _This was a dream or vision of some kind, he was sure. The only way he could have described it was to say that there was something insubstantial about the scene laid out before him, like it might be dispelled like smoke if he breathed too heavily._

 _He looked around, trying to orient himself. It was an orc camp, as much was clear. They had stopped for the night just as he had, wherever this was. A few remained awake and kept guard and Glorfindel feared for a second they might see him, before realizing that they certainly would’ve done so by now if they could. He was many things, but_ _inconspicuous was not one of them._

_On the one hand, it was entirely possible this was the random conjuring of his exhausted mind, but Glorfindel felt so strangely aware and awake that he was certain this was some sort of vision instead. Besides, he certainly had more haunting things than this to fuel his nightmares._

_He wondered what he was meant to be seeing, when he felt it again. It was the same feeling as before, the same keen awareness that Erestor was near._

_Was that what this was? Some vision of Erestor’s whereabouts?_

_Glorfindel cast about more frantically now, searching the camp. At its center, guarded by several orcs, he found him._

_There, curled in on himself asleep, was a black-haired elf Glorfindel would know anywhere._

_Erestor’s hands were bound in an uncomfortable looking way and he was covered in dirt. His lips were dry and cracked and he lay on the ground, shivering for the cold. Peredhel that he was, Erestor slept with his eyes closed as though in death._

_Glorfindel stood over him for a moment, just looking. It was a blessing to see that he breathed. Erestor looked cold and uncomfortable, but he was most certainly alive and Glorfindel sent out a silent prayer of thanks._

_It had never been any secret to Glorfindel that others found Erestor handsome. He knew that some had commented on his sharp features and dark eyes and often said what a shame it was he was so snappish, else he might have garnered many admirers. He had always known this, but he was suddenly very aware of it for himself when he watched his friend like this._

_Erestor’s eyes snapped open, interrupting Glorfindel’s study._

_“Glorfindel?” he said, blinking in his confusion. For a half second he looked relieved and then a harsh look came over his face. “What in Arda are you doing here?”_

_“I don’t think I am truly here, I’m afraid,” replied Glorfindel._

_Erestor blinked. “What do you mean?”_

_“Look around you. This is a dream of some kind. Everything is ...off. And the orcs would surely have seen me here by now or heard us talking if it weren’t. Not to mention that I woke to find myself suddenly here when I was nowhere near when I fell asleep.”_

_Erestor’s expression was impassive as he processed this. “I see,” he said finally. “Well, I can assure you this place is not merely some trifle I have conjured. My caravan was attacked by an orc party some time back. I, at least, am in this clearing whether I am awake to see it or not.”_

_“I know. I know… I am out looking for you.”_

_Erestor scowled blackly. “That can’t be right. It hasn’t been long enough for someone to know something was wrong and even if someone got away to carry word of the attack, they would not have gone seeking Imladris to tell of it. It wouldn’t make sense for him to already be missing me. This is just a dream.”_

_There was something painfully weary in that last sentence._

_“It is not!” Glorfindel argued. “Well, it is true I am not here with you in body. I have merely wandered into your dream somehow. But I am truly looking for you. I felt it when...well, it must’ve been when you were attacked. I felt your fear, Erestor. I set out right away.”_

_“You mean you foresaw this?”_

_“I am not sure. It did not seem as foresight to me. It was more simply that I could feel you. But it doesn’t matter. I will find you.”_

_Erestor looked at him for a long moment. His gaze was intense, though he said nothing. Part of Glorfindel wanted to let the silence lie, but he didn’t know how much time he had here._

_“Do you have any idea where you are?” he asked._

_Erestor gave him a wry look. “No. Shall I ask my captors for directions?”_

_“Stop it. Tell me what you know.”_

_“Fine. By the terrain, still in Calenardhon. I would guess not far from Angrenost and the Gap. But I can’t be sure. We travel west, but slowly. They are in no extreme hurry, wherever they are going.”_

_“Strange,” said Glorfindel._

_“Agreed.”_

_“Are you injured? Have they harmed you?”_

_“No. I am hungry and thirsty and uncomfortable, but…nothing more interesting.”_

_Glorfindel almost sagged in relief. He could work with this. It was still vague, but he had a better idea where to look for Erestor now - and more than anything he knew he was alive. He was not suffering or lying bleeding and broken in some unknown place. He did not think he could bear that._

_“I will find you,” he said again. It was a promise, a vow of sorts._

_Erestor met his eyes and then nodded._

_“I believe you,” he said simply, “I would trust you before any other.”_

Glorfindel woke with a start, gasping as he returned to himself. His head felt heavy as he tried to reorient himself where he lay in his bedroll. 

Erestor… he had seen Erestor. He scrambled to his feet. He knew where to look now and he wanted to waste no more time. The longer he waited, the further Erestor would be from the clearing in the dream and the harder to find. 

He packed what things he needed and began to ready Asfaloth without heed to how short his rest had been. 

Erestor had said he _trusted_ him. His heart beat fast.

It was not in itself a particular outstanding thing to say. He and Erestor had been friends and companions for millennia. He _should_ trust him. But Erestor did not say things like that. He was reserved and guarded in his way. His affection was in doing more than saying — he would wait up half the night for Glorfindel to return from a long patrol and see that food and a bath were waiting for him, but words? That was unlike him. And so to hear such a thing from him struck Glorfindel. 

He swallowed hard as he mounted his horse. He would not fail him. 

\---

“Get up, _filth_!” grunted the orc as he half dragged Erestor by his hair from the ground where he had lain. Erestor could smell the creature’s foul, hot breath and he gritted his teeth to avoid making any sound of pain. 

There was nothing he could do to cease his shivering. He had been on the road so many frigid days and nights without a cloak now he could scarcely remember how it had felt to be warm. The wind across the open land here seemed to cut through what thin clothing he wore, freezing him to the bone.

“What do you want?” he asked, fighting to keep the dread he felt from his voice as he was dragged roughly towards the center of the camp. 

_“_ We have kept you far too comfortable,” replied one, it’s lip curling in sickening delight, "Some fun is in order."

“Something to entertain us while we camp here,” said another. 

Erestor was certain he didn’t want to know what that meant and even more certain he was about to find out. 

He was forced to his knees roughly in a way that made him gasp in pain and he could feel the eyes all around him, watching hungrily. The orc that led them snarled some order at a lieutenant in an foul speech he did not understand and in response one that stood near him drew a long knife.

Erestor scowled to hide the fear that coiled in his belly. The orcs must have seen it anyway, because a few of them laughed. 

“Do not squeal yet, little elf,” said the one who held the knife, “I only come to free your hands. There will be time for that later.”

True to her word, she knelt and began to cut the rope binds from Erestor’s hands with an unnerving ease that spoke of practice. Even when his hands were free after many long days bound there was pain, as he found that his wrists had been rubbed raw by the rough twine.

“If you think of running,” said the leader from above him, “we will make you _beg_ before you die. I give you this kindness only because I will find this all much more amusing if you have the freedom to struggle.”

Erestor said nothing. He would not give them the satisfaction of his fear. Instead, he glared up at them and let his hate pour out at them from his spirit. If they were to break him through torture, he would make them earn that. He would not go to his torment cowering or begging.

The orc that had cut the binds on his hands then turned the knife on him again. It held the knife blade just above the collar of his shirt and then stopped, looking to him for reaction. 

When he did not waver, it sent the knife straight downward so that it left his chest unmarred but sliced through the shirt he wore with a ripping sound. 

He started in surprise, but another pair of hands caught him and held him fast. He felt nauseous at the touch and the feeling only grew worse when his shirt was pulled off of him. 

He knew what they were doing - trying to frighten and demean him, but the understanding of it did nothing to stop the fear that clawed at his throat, choking him. He shivered from the cold and the raw terror alike now. 

In his fright, Erestor looked up to find that the leader now held something in his hand and was grinning down at him. Upon a closer look, he saw that it was a dark leather whip, not unlike those he had seen mortal men use on animals.

Oh. They were going to _lash_ him? That was their idea of amusement? He knew he should not be surprised, but the sick feeling returned in earnest. While he was by no means fragile, he was not a soldier and he was unaccustomed to pain and the idea of it frightened him. He wanted to be brave, to not flinch before it but that wish did nothing to still his racing heart.

He thought suddenly of Glorfindel. It had been nigh on a week since he’d seen him in the dream they’d shared and he had sustained himself with the memory since. Glorfindel was looking for him, Glorfindel was going to _save_ him. Glorfindel seemed nowhere near now. 

He did not want to die here. Or be maimed as he was sure that whip was designed to do. He wanted to return to Imladris, to spend his days in his library and his evenings with Glorfindel, in debate and companionship as they had always done. 

Blinding panic rose in him and for a moment it was crippling, as freezing as the air about him. He could see his breaths leaving him too quickly in the winter air. 

He could not do this. He did not want to. If death were unavoidable, he would prefer it quickly. 

Madly, idiotically, Erestor leapt to his feet in rebellion. Just what he planned to do, he had no idea. He shoved the orc who had cut his binds away from him with all the strength he could muster and cast about frantically, looking for any escape. 

Luckily, the orcs had not been prepared for any fight and few had weapons drawn. He turned towards the west where he saw a gap in the throng and, in a split second decision, ran as fast as his legs would carry him. 

He scrambled, dodging those that leapt at him and shoving away those who got too close. He would not stop, he would not be dragged back to some torment. Miraculously, they did not manage to pin him down. When he reached the edge of their camp he kept running, knowing this was utter madness. The terrain was open and there was nowhere to hide, they would surely take him down with arrows before he was even out of sight. 

Still, he did not stop running. He felt an arrow whiz past him and his legs burned but he ignored it. Cries in the orc tongue rang out behind him and he thought they should be closing in on him, but he did not dare look back. 

Erestor ran on, almost blind in his terror. He should have paid closer attention to his surroundings. Too late he realized that he had come to the edge of a steep slope where the ground cut away into a ravine. He tried uselessly to stop his momentum as he reached the edge. His arms shot out and he wobbled for a moment before tumbling awkwardly down the rocky slope to the river below and there was a dull sound as his head hit the rock at the same time his feet splashed into the water.

\---

Glorfindel had done wiser things in life than attempt to take on an entire orc pack on his own, but at the moment he could not find it in him to care about the danger. To find orcs - this many and _here_ in Calenardhon meant that they either had Erestor or knew who did. More than that, he had the unnameable sense that these were the orcs he had seen in Erestor’s dream. 

He gutted another with ease, his spirit blazing behind his eyes so brightly he could see the faint glow it cast on their faces as they began to flee before him. 

“There was an elf among you!” he cried at one who engaged him, “Tell me! Where is he? What have you done with him?” 

The orc met his strike and the sound of their swords meeting _sang_ through the air. 

“ _Not here,”_ it snarled viciously, “Not anymore.”

Fear seized Glorfindel. Surely, they had not… they would not have carried Erestor all this way only to kill him. That would not make sense. He had to be alive. He _must_. Glorfindel reassured himself he would have felt something if Erestor were gone.

He slit the orc’s throat. And then another. And another. It was just hacking, a mindless brutality that ought to have frightened Glorfindel in himself but at the moment he could not care. These creatures had harmed Erestor, they had murdered his companions and kidnapped him, left him freezing and starving as they dragged him across the countryside. All Glorfindel could feel was fury. He had lost everything once and might well have to do so again before it was over, but he would _not_ lose Erestor. That was one blow he was somehow aware he could not bear, one that would not merely wound him but shatter him altogether. 

Even as he fought on, Glorfindel could feel the panic that had threatened earlier rise again. It seemed to soak through to his skin along with the vile black blood of the orcs. Erestor was not here. He was not among these orcs - he was not hidden in any corner of their ragged camp nor fleeing from the fight. 

And yet the orc had said he was not here _anymore_ which meant that Glorfindel was right. These were the ones that had held him captive. Glorfindel was by now stepping over bodies as he looked for some sign and willed his hands not to shake. 

The fight was all but over now, and he saw no sign of what he sought. Even as he cleared the area, he found nothing but the corpses of orcs and the bite of the freezing air. 

Then he saw something strange. Laying crumpled on the ground was a grubby piece of fabric that had clearly once been white in better days. He would have ignored it entirely, save that when he knelt to inspect it, he saw that the fabric was of elvish make. No orc in the world was likely to have such a thing unless it were stolen. 

He lifted it up. It was a shirt, he realized, the plain linen kind Erestor wore beneath his robes, and it was cut gracelessly down the center and torn slightly at the shoulder seams where it had been ripped unkindly from someone’s body. From Erestor’s body — he was sure of it. 

Glorfindel felt nauseous. That the orcs had stripped Erestor of his clothes could mean many things, none of them good. Logically, he knew it was a good sign he did not see trousers with the shirt, but he could not consider such horrors that that implied in the context of Erestor without shutting down entirely, something he did not have time for now. 

For now, he had to find his friend. He hoped he had gotten away from whatever they had planned for him when they’d cut his shirt away, he _prayed_ he had. Despite Erestor’s absence, Glorfindel had the sense that he was _near_. His spirit sensed Erestor’s - as familiar as it was - and he took heart in that. He would scour the countryside until he found him. 

He rode westward, thinking to start that way in his search. Though he ran the risk of attracting the remaining orcs, Glorfindel cried out for him as he rode to no reply. 

He pushed onward and soon came to a ravine which dropped away sharply and he could hear a river rushing below even before he came near enough to the edge to see it. 

Glorfindel dismounted his horse so that he might better look down the slope to see if it were passable and his breath caught. 

Erestor lay at the bottom of the ravine, splayed out as he had apparently fallen. His motionless form was unnervingly pale and bloodless against the dark river rock. Glorfindel scrambled down to reach him. As though seeing him, the peredhel clawed dazedly at his surroundings as he tried to haul his body up, but fell again when his trembling arms gave out beneath him. 

Glorfindel was relieved to see that he moved, but feared he was injured and so came to kneel beside his prone body on the rocky riverbank. As he neared, he found that Erestor was shivering violently. It was no wonder. The air was cold enough as it was and Erestor wore only trousers and boots that had been soaked through by the frigid river water which splashed up against him where he lay.

“Glorfindel….?” Erestor moaned dazedly. His dark eyes fluttered open and then closed again as though the sun were too bright on him. 

Glorfindel almost _wept_ in relief. Without thinking, he reached out to cup Erestor’s cheek. 

“I am here, old friend,” he said, “As I promised.”

Another violent shiver passed through Erestor and Glorfindel was abruptly reminded of the danger. Erestor was half naked and freezing and, judging by his confusion and the way he lay, had hit his head. 

“We need to get you warm,” Glorfindel said, “Can you move?” 

Erestor said nothing but he must have understood anyway because he stirred again, trying to lift himself up on his arms. The effort was short lived. Even with Glorfindel trying to support him, his shaking arms soon gave out and he fell back against the rock. Stubborn as he was, Erestor began to try again, gritting his teeth at the effort. 

“Be still,” Glorfindel halted him, “Do not waste your strength.” 

He moved so that he was behind Erestor, wrapped his arms around his bare chest from behind and dragged him back away from the water. 

He pulled Erestor up the slope to dry rock and then stopped again, looking around. It would be quite a feat to carry Erestor all the way up the jagged wall. He had already scraped his hands in his haste to reach the bottom the first time and it would make the climb more complicated now. 

It was possible Glorfindel might make it, but he feared dropping Erestor again. He had not yet had time to inspect his head wound and knew not yet how serious it was. Regardless, falling again was the last thing he needed. 

Glorfindel looked about him for some solution and found that some ways up the river there was a rock overhang that sat away from the rushing river and would give them some shelter. 

Rather than drag Erestor the remaining distance, he hooked one arm beneath his knees and the other behind his neck and carried him. 

“Glorfindel,” said Erestor, his voice clearer this time though his teeth still chattered. “The orcs…”

“They are dead,” he replied, “if stragglers remain they shall not be a problem for me.”

At this Erestor went limp in his arms, as though what fear remained had fled. 

Glorfindel carried him beneath the great rock overhang and laid him down as gently as he could. He was pleased to find that the area was dry and shielded from the outside. With that accomplished, he set about making a fire. 

Erestor was shivering violently and though experience told him that it was a good sign that he still shivered and the deathlike stillness that came at the end of freezing had not set in, he knew it was only a matter of time. The air was so cold they could see their breath and the water that soaked Erestor to the bone colder yet. It had been millennia since Glorfindel had dealt with this, but he knew still what needed to be done. 

There were no trees or fallen branches here in the craggy rock, but on one side thick vines grew and Glorfindel hacked at them with a dagger until he freed them. 

“Erestor?” he said as he deftly tried to build a small fire as fast as he could. 

“Yes,” was the stilted reply. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Fine. I am cold and my head hurts, but - but I do not think the wound serious,” Erestor managed through chattering teeth. 

In truth, Glorfindel just wanted to keep him talking. He asked him various questions about nothing in particular as he worked and was somewhat comforted to find that, while he was dazed and weak, Erestor was not senseless. He understood who Glorfindel was and where they were. 

When Glorfindel - through some combination of skill and sheer desperate luck - had managed to make a small fire of the vines and some dry leaves that had lain on the rock, he moved Erestor towards the meager flame. It was not ideal, but it would have to do for the moment. 

That accomplished, he moved on to the task of getting Erestor dry. He methodically removed his friend’s boots and then reached for his wet breeches before abruptly realizing what he was doing and pulling away, blushing despite the circumstances. 

He knew logically that any wet clothing needed to come off of him and for any other soul he would’ve calmly explained that the nudity, while somewhat awkward, was necessary. But with Erestor he felt shy. His face burned at the thought of _pulling Erestor’s breeches from him_ and he stilled for a moment, uncertain what he was meant to do. 

To his surprise, he found that Erestor looked at him with amusement, his dry, bluish lips twisted into a wry grin. 

“What’s this?” he breathed, “If the rumors are to be believed you were something of a cad with your affections in days of old and here you are looking so uncertain when I am about to be naked.”

Glorfindel swallowed. _Erestor listened to rumors about his love life?_ It was only through a great amount of self control that he did not choke. There were other tasks at hand now, but he filed the knowledge away and reminded himself that Erestor having the wherewithal to make fun of him right now was a good sign.

“Damn you,” Glorfindel said with no heat, “May I undress you? Your hands shake so much I don’t think you’ll manage it on your own.”

Erestor nodded and his dark eyes held an amused look even as a particular violent shiver took hold of him. 

Glorfindel, for his part, forced himself to think of anything else as he pulled at the waist of Erestor’s trousers until he had them down around his knees where Erestor kicked them off. 

This left the handsome peredhel in nothing but his smallclothes and Glorfindel decided they could stay on. For one, the thin material would dry quickly unlike the other clothes and, for two, Glorfindel was not certain he felt brave enough to help him remove them. 

_Eru, when had attraction begun to burn in him like this? Had it always simmered beneath the surface where Erestor was concerned or was it new entirely?_

Ignoring the question, Glorfindel then unclipped his green cloak from the back of his armor and held it out to Erestor who managed to wrap himself in it. He was quite thankful he was a somewhat larger build because it meant that the cloak covered Erestor’s whole body and Glorfindel knew that the fleece fabric, being designed for such a thing, would warm him better than many ordinary blankets.

That accomplished, Glorfindel did what he could to build the fire further. After a few minutes, Erestor spoke. 

“Are you going to join me?” he asked neutrally. 

Glorfindel’s eyes snapped up to look at him. It was true that getting beneath the cloak with Erestor and warming him with own body was the most prudent thing in the situation, but Glorfindel hesitated. Before this entire ordeal, he might have thought nothing of it. Erestor was his friend, after all, his _dearest_ friend and they were familiar with each other. 

But now that he found himself terribly aware of this _yearning_ for him and it was a strangeness that’s made him question whether a boundary lay there that he ought not to cross. 

He could not lose Erestor. This trial had taught him that. He would fight away every horror he had ever seen or even imagined for him, he would journey wherever he had to. And yet...he felt afraid that another kind of loss might threaten now. If this newfound affection for Erestor were unwanted or repulsive to him, their easy friendship might be lost and the idea was unthinkable. 

“Is that what you want?” Glorfindel finally managed.

“Yes,” Erestor replied, “Not freezing is generally my preference.”

Glorfindel snorted. Trust Erestor to respond with snark when his heart was in his throat. It only made him more fond. 

Nonetheless, Glorfindel made quick work of removing the plated outer armor he wore. He knew it would be uncomfortable for Erestor to lay against and it was dirty and cold. Beneath it he wore layered shirts which, as they were still dry, he left on. He then lay on the stone such that he was beside Erestor who promptly lifted the edge of the cloak so that he might crawl beneath it with him. 

The soft green cloak, while certainly enough for Erestor to lay beneath, was not nearly large enough for both of them. Glorfindel tried to maneuver himself as carefully as possible, but the fact of the matter was that in order to fit beneath it they had to lay pressed against each other. 

Erestor made no remark upon it when Glorfindel’s breath caught in his throat slightly as Erestor laid his head on his chest. 

Glorfindel felt suddenly that something deep within him, beyond the marrow of his bones and on to his _fëa_ itself was shifting. In his chest he felt mountains moving and abruptly found that he did not know if he trembled for Erestor’s shivers or merely of his own accord. The feel of Erestor in his arms was overwhelming - the solid weight of him against his body at once soothing and shattering him. 

He was a fool for not seeing this before. So many years he had stood at Erestor’s side, the rhythm of his life dictated by the elf that lay now against his body. He had thought them an unlikely pair of friends - a sarcastic librarian and an over-earnest soldier still haunted by things he had seen when the world was young. But he saw now. Somewhere, at some unknowable point in those many years, Erestor had become something else to him. He could not have pinpointed the day this had happened nor even the hour but somewhere he had come to love Erestor in a way he loved no other.

Of course he had known when harm had befallen Erestor. What use was the blessing of foresight and skill of the mind if not to defend one’s beloved?

“You are doing it again,” Erestor said, breaking him abruptly from his thoughts. 

Glorfindel blinked. “Doing what?”

“Watching. You are looking this way and that for some threat until your thoughts race ahead of you. Your whole body is tense, I can feel you.”

“Is it?” Glorfindel replied faintly. Was that what Erestor thought he was doing? Fearing the orcs finding them or the cold taking too great a toll? 

“Yes, it is. You are working yourself into a fit in your mind, I can all but hear it. If we were home I would send you to the garden to clear your head.”

“Am I not allowed it in this case? Morgoth’s hells, I almost _lost_ you.”

The words came out with more emotion than Glorfindel had really intended to show and he bit his cheek in embarrassment. Why did he even bother? Erestor had forever been able to see straight through him.

In response, Erestor only turned against him to look into his eyes and said, “But you did not. You came for me as you promised. I am cold and wet and a little bruised, but I am not dying.”

“But—”

“But nothing. We are here together now. There is nothing to fear.”

Glorfindel could find nothing to say. Tentatively, he pulled Erestor closer and ran a hand over his raven hair. He would not mention his love now, at a time like this. But as he lay there he knew that there would never be another like this. If there were any partner to him in Arda, it was the elf that lay in his arms now. 

Erestor leaned in further until he was nose to nose with Glorfindel and the golden elf barely had time to draw in a shaking breath before Erestor bridged the final gap and placed a searing kiss against Glorfindel’s lips.

“Do not fear this either, _Laurë_ , this thing we have now,” he whispered against him when at last he pulled away, “It is a new country for us, but we shall make a home in it all our own.”

Glorfindel blinked back at him in shock for a moment and then kissed him in return, relishing the feeling of Erestor’s lips against his own. 

Strangely, he felt that it was he who had been saved.


End file.
